The Lives We Touch
by BravoKate
Summary: She took her coffee with milk and sweetener.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The Lives We Touch**

You can tell a lot about people by the kind of coffee they drink.

Anna likes to guess, when people walk through the door, what they are going to order. It's lame, she knows, but it helps pass the time. And while she can definitely think of worse jobs than this one, it's still not exactly the most exciting work around. So she keeps herself entertained by noting customers' preferences, and trying to guess who they are, what their lives are like. If nothing else, it helps her stay awake. And since she switched to this ridiculously-early-in-the-morning shift last week, she's needed all the help she can get.

Some people are easy. The redhead with the thick braid and the Birkenstocks will order something with soy, probably with a bran muffin. The middle-aged police officer is definitely a black coffee kind of guy. The shy little girl with blonde pigtails doesn't even have to finish stammering out her order before Anna has written "hot chocolate" on the side of her cup.

But every once in a while, there's a surprise, and Anna always loves it when that happens. Sad, maybe, that that's about the most exciting thing that happens in her life these days, but in any case, it always brings a smile to her face when she gets an order that's completely unexpected. She loves it when the polished, fashion-model-slender woman in four-inch stilettos orders a giant cinnamon roll that she eats with her hands, getting sticky icing all over her perfectly-manicured nails. Or when the muscular, weather-beaten construction worker orders a green tea on his way to work.

Anna hasn't been working this shift long enough to know who the regulars are, yet, but it doesn't usually take long. After a while, she knows to give the single mother with three kids and dark circles under her eyes a stack of extra napkins, without her having to ask. She knows that the college student who must have a tough class on Friday mornings wants six shots in his espresso, and makes it automatically, even though she gets jittery just _thinking _about that much caffeine.

She is massaging her temples, trying desperately to stay awake, when the bell attached to the front door jingles softly. A woman with layered, shoulder-length dark hair walks in, and something about her posture reminds Anna of…but no. Katie hadn't looked anything like this woman. Besides, that was years ago. Where had that thought come from?

"Good morning!" she says, in the bright, cheerful voice she always uses with customers, mostly because if she doesn't, she's afraid that she'll tell them to go away, or demand to know why any sane person would be out of bed this early in the morning in the first place. "What can I get for you today?"

The woman smiles back at her, which is unusual in itself. This early in the morning, most of the customers Anna deals with are less than cheerful. She has actually become pretty used to being grunted at. Not that she can blame them, really. It's not as though she does well with mornings, either. "A medium coffee, with milk and sweetener," the woman tells her, and Anna feels her eyes widen. She has to take a deep breath. What is _with_ her, this morning? She deliberately shakes it off.

"Can I get your name?" she asks calmly, sharpie poised over the cardboard cup.

"Kate."

Anna freezes. Relax, she tells herself firmly. Deep breath. So they have the same name – sort of. Not a big deal. Besides, for all she knows, Kate is short for Caitlin, or something. Not Katherine. And really, how many people in DC take their coffee with milk and sweetener? Probably half the city! So why is she suddenly feeling so…unnerved?

After a moment, she realizes the woman – Kate – is looking at her oddly. Well, no wonder. Anna still hasn't managed to write the name on the cup and take the credit card from her hand. "Sorry," she murmurs, trying to snap out of it. She takes the credit card and swipes it quickly, handing it back with an apologetic, if somewhat forced, smile.

"Thank you," Kate tells her.

"Have a nice day." Anna watches her leave, still unable to shake the feeling that there's something so familiar about her. Posture isn't even the right word for it. It's more…something in the way she carries herself. Confidence, sure, but something else. Purpose, maybe. Or direction. Like she knows exactly where she's going, and has something to do when she gets there.

Katie had always looked like that, too. Even when her sister had been home, walking down the hallway in jeans and a sweatshirt, Anna had always had the impression that she was answering a summons, or something. That she had somewhere important she needed to be. She'd always thought that Katie was the only person she knew who could somehow wear pajamas and still look like she was in uniform.

But this woman didn't look military. For one thing, she was wearing a skirt and sweater. And her hair was down. Katie had always worn a bun, or a French braid with the end tucked under, when she was on duty. Still, there was something about her…

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To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The Lives We Touch**

After a few days, Anna all but forgets about the woman who had managed to bring up so many memories. Hardly surprising, really, that she doesn't see her again. Even if she's a regular, stopping for coffee on the way to work, Anna's shift would be over before she came in.

Her parents worry about her, she knows, taking the bus to work at 3:30 in the morning. They can't understand why a coffee shop would need to be open that early in the first place. That always makes her laugh. It reminds her of the tourists from New Hampshire, who come to see the capital and are appalled at the thought that people actually pay four dollars for a cup of coffee.

It's hard to explain to her Montana-raised parents that in DC, there is always someone awake and in need of caffeine. Besides, as she always tells them, even rapists and serial killers aren't crazy enough to be awake this early.

She doesn't actually mind working the early shift. Apart from having to be awake before dawn, it isn't all that bad. In a city like DC, it's the only time of day when business is even close to slow. So though the coffee shop is hardly ever actually _empty,_ it's at least not quite as crazy as it is later in the morning.

Besides, it pays well, and since Anna seems to be stuck in a waiting-for-real-life-to-start phase, the money comes in handy. Because tuition isn't cheap, and living in DC _definitely _isn't.

Anna's shift has just started on Tuesday morning, when the woman – Kate – comes in once more, setting the bells tinkling. She comes up to the counter and leans against it, looking up at Anna through bleary eyes.

"Medium coffee with – "

"Milk and sweetener," Anna finishes.

Kate raises her eyebrows. "Impressive."

With a shrug, Anna explains, a little self-consciously, "It gives me something to do – remembering orders. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me awake."

Kate smiles. "I know the feeling." Anna wants to ask what she's doing so early in the morning, but decides it's none of her business. But then the other woman lets out a groan. "You'd think cases could wait until morning."

"You're a cop?" Anna figures that would explain the sense of purpose this woman seems to have.

"Not exactly. I work at NCIS. It stands for Naval – "

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services," Anna interrupts, before remembering that her New Year's resolution had been to stop finishing other people's sentences. Because, as her little brother Kyle was always telling her, nobody likes a know-it-all.

But Kate just smiles. "I'm impressed. Not many people have heard of us."

"I'm working on a degree in criminology," Anna explains. Mostly, though she doesn't say this, because she decided to go to grad school in order to give herself another two years to figure out what she's going to do with herself. "My professor mentions you guys sometimes." She snaps the lid on the coffee cup and hands it over. "Good luck with the case."

The cell phone attached to her belt starts to vibrate, and Kate snaps it open. Mouthing a thank-you, she lifts her hand in a slight wave, and heads out the door.

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February twenty-second. Of all three hundred sixty-five days of the year to choose from, Anna hates this one most.

Actually, if she thinks about it, the twenty-first is probably the one she should hate. That was when it had actually happened, after all. But for her, the twenty-second will always be the day that her world was suddenly and irreversibly shattered. Because that had been the day Katie's CO had called. The day they'd heard about the car bomb at the checkpoint where her sister had been stationed. The day Anna, at sixteen years old, had first learned that her sister would not be coming home.

So though it had happened the previous night, Anna had still had eight more hours of blissful ignorance. Though Katie had already been dead, she hadn't yet had to face the horrible reality. It hadn't touched her life. Not yet. Not until the twenty-second.

Every year, on this day, she calls her parents. They talk about meaningless, everyday things, trying to avoid the subject on everyone's minds. Inevitably, though, Katie's name comes up, and the conversation turns to their memories of her. By the time Anna hangs up every year, no one has managed to stay dry-eyed.

Today, though, Anna is up long before she will be able to call her parents. Even if they'd lived on the east coat, it would be too early to call. And factoring in the time difference, it's still the middle of the night in Montana.

So Anna gets dressed and takes the bus to work as usual, burying her face in a magazine and pretending to have a cold in order to excuse the wad of tissues in her hand. By the time she gets there, her face is tear-streaked. She avoids the bus driver's concerned gaze as she steps out.

Taking a moment to gather herself, she heads for the ladies' room before starting her shift. Once she has washed her face and touched up her makeup, Anna studies herself critically in the bathroom mirror. She looks like crap, but maybe at least she can pass it off as allergies, or something. In any case, she decides, this is probably as good as it's going to get.

She probably shouldn't have come in today. She could have called in sick, or something. No one would have noticed. But the thought of sitting in her empty apartment all morning, watching _Titanic_ and sobbing her eyes out, had just been too pathetic. Not to mentioned clichéd. So she'd convinced herself that she'd be better off keeping busy, and headed to work as usual.

Now, though, she is beginning to regret that decision. She feels a surge of gratitude every time a customer comes in. Anything to keep her mind busy. But she's already messed up two drink orders and dropped a scone on the floor. And something tells her that her day is not going to get any better.

When the door opens again, Anna looks up to see the NCIS agent with her sister's name. With shaky fingers, she writes her name on the cup, and starts to pour the coffee before the woman can ask. She doesn't think she can bear to hear her sister's standard order. Not today.

Her hand trembles as she finishes pouring in the sweetener and passes Kate the drink, only to snatch it back, realizing that she forgot to put a lid on it. After snapping it on with a murmured apology, she again extends the drink.

Before Kate can take it, though, Anna knocks it over, spilling it all over the counter. "Shit!" she groans, wincing and closing her eyes briefly. Glancing up to make sure that she's at least managed to avoid splashing it all over the woman's white blouse, she says desperately, "I'm so sorry. Give me just a minute, and I'll get you a new one."

"Hey," Kate says, and her smile is kind. "No problem. It happens to everyone."

Anna just shakes her head. Definitely, she should have stayed home today. She quickly makes a second drink, remembering the lid this time, and sets it on the counter instead of trying to hand it to her. Grabbing a rag, she wipes furiously at the puddle of coffee spreading across the counter, and practically has to hold her breath in order to suppress the sob that is threatening to escape.

After a moment, she realizes that the older woman still hasn't left. "Are you OK?" she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, sure," she says, though it sounds unconvincing, even to her. "Fine."

Evidently, Kate thinks it's the coffee spill that has her so upset. "Seriously, don't worry about it. You think that's bad? When I was new at NCIS, I once knocked my boss's coffee cup over onto his desk. And trust me, if there's _anyone_ you don't want to see caffeine-deprived, it's Gibbs."

Anna smiles a little. Even though that's not actually what's bothering her, it's really nice of this woman to care whether some girl who works at a coffee shop beats herself up all day for screwing up. "Thanks," she says sincerely. "Have a nice day."

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About a week later, Kate shows up again. This time, she's the one who looks like she's been having a rough day. Or maybe more like a rough few days, judging by the way her clothes are wrinkled. Anna wonders if she slept at the office.

"Still milk and sweetener?" she confirms, smiling sympathetically. Kate nods.

Anna hands over her cup. "Tough day?" she asks, feeling like she owes her that much.

Kate groans. "More like a tough few days." Anna has to hide a smile at the way the woman's words echo her own thoughts.

"Trouble at work?" she asks, mostly because she thinks the agent looks like she wants to talk.

"One of my coworkers – he's a friend. You know, the kind that bugs the hell out of you, until they're gone? – anyway, he's been really sick."

Anna winces. "I'm sorry," she offers lamely, wishing she had something better to say. "Is he…" she trails off, realizing that that might not be the best question to ask.

But Kate smiles. "Oh, he's going to be fine. Back at work in a week or two, and just as annoying as ever. It was just…it was pretty scary."

Anna nods. She knows the feeling. "The booth in the back is pretty comfortable," she offers, mostly because it's all she can think of to say.

To her surprise, Kate laughs a little. She gives it a considering look. "Now _that _sounds like a good idea. Wake me up if I fall asleep?"

"Sure."

It's not until a few hours later, when Anna is wiping down tables at the end of her shift, that she notices a delicate silver bracelet sitting on the edge of the booth.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The Lives We Touch**

Anna had stashed the bracelet behind the counter, figuring Kate would be back for it eventually.

A week goes by, and Anna doesn't think much about it. After two weeks, she starts to get a little nervous. Maybe she should have done something differently? She'd told her manager about it, but he hadn't seemed particularly concerned. So why should she be?

By the time three weeks pass, Anna's imagination is taking over. Aside from the fact that she'd left what looked to be a fairly expensive bracelet, it's weird that Kate hasn't been back. She'd been at the shop at least once a week since Anna had started working this shift. What if something had happened?

Anna tries to tell herself that she is panicking for no reason. She doesn't even _know _this woman! For all she knows, she is on vacation, or has been transferred, or something. This bad feeling in her stomach is just her imagination. She's just being overly anxious, that's all.

By the end of the third week, Anna can't stand it anymore. After her shift is over, she slips the bracelet into her purse, and walks the few blocks to the Navy Yard. Judging the odd times when Kate would sometimes come in for coffee, Anna figures NCIS must open early.

She makes it through the front doors and, seeing the row of metal detectors and security guards, abruptly realizes that maybe this isn't the smartest idea she's ever had. Now that she thinks about it, what exactly had she been expecting to happen? To just waltz in and ask to see some agent named Kate who, Anna now realizes, doesn't even know her name?

She's just about to turn around and leave when a security guard approaches her. "Can I help you?"

Though some part of her still thinks it would be smarter to just turn around and leave, she convinces herself that now that she's here, she might as well try to return the bracelet. "Um, I need to see an agent that works here. Agent Kate…" Anna trails off, realizing that she doesn't have any idea what Kate's last name is. _Why _does she never think things through? That had been yet another resolution of hers, one she'd had about as much success with as her promise to stop procrastinating.

"Um," she stammers, searching her memory for anything that might help distinguish who she's looking for. Or at least, something that might show that she's not some head case that wandered in off the street. Then she remembers what Kate had said when she'd spilled the coffee, about her caffeine-deprived boss. Praying she's gotten the name right, Anna adds, "She works for Agent Gibbs."

Something in the guard's face changes, but all he says is, "Wait here." Anna watches as he goes over to a desk and picks up a phone. "Special Agent Gibbs? There's a young woman here asking about Agent Todd." He pauses. "She didn't say." He nods, and Anna has to grin. She always does that when she's on the phone, too, though of course she knows the other person can't see. "Yes, sir."

The security guard comes back over to her. "Miss…?"

"Roberts. Anna Roberts."

"Miss Roberts. I'll escort you up to Agent Gibbs's office."

"Thank you." Anna tries not to look as nervous as she feels. But she can't help wondering why, if they're not going to tell her to take a hike, they won't just take her to see Kate.

She follows the security guard, who looks like he could be an extra in _Men in Black,_ into an elevator, and then out into a busy-looking bullpen, crowded with desks. A silver-haired man in a polo shirt looks up as they exit the elevator. "Thanks, Carter. I'll take it from here."

The security guard gives a brisk nod and gets back in the elevator. Anna has to repress the urge to go with him.

The man – Gibbs, apparently – comes around from behind his desk. It's the cup of coffee in his hand, of all things, that finally makes Anna relax a little. Weird how that suddenly makes him seem more…human. Or maybe it's more that it puts her on familiar ground.

"Special Agent Gibbs," he finally says, though it sounds more like a question. A "why are you here?" kind of question, with a hint of impatience. And something else. Caution, maybe.

"Anna Roberts." Anna takes his offered hand and shakes it, trying to ignore the way his piercing stare makes her feel. Damn, but those are _blue_ eyes. And somehow, it feels like he's staring right through her. _Snap out of it, Anna,_ she tells herself firmly. _You're starting to sound like a cheesy novel._

"You were asking about Agent Todd?" he finally prompts, and Anna realizes suddenly that she hasn't let go of his hand. She drops it, trying to stop the blush that's spreading from the base of her neck, cursing her pale complexion as she does so.

That same look is back in his eyes, and Anna has a feeling something is off. Trying to tell herself that she's just being an alarmist, she takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Um, I'm sorry to just barge in here like this, but I didn't know how else to contact her. It's just…" Anna pulled the bracelet out of her purse. "She left this in the coffee shop where I work, a couple of weeks ago, and she hasn't been back since, so I couldn't return it to her. And I just thought…maybe I could find her here?"

Agent Gibbs's face closes off. Anna had never quite understood what that meant, until now. It's like…in the space of a few seconds, all expression vanishes. Like what was left was a blank template, a sketch, still waiting for the details to be filled in.

"Kate isn't here," he finally tells her, and his voice is calm. Casual, even. Like there really isn't anything to worry about. Anna wants desperately to believe that that's true.

But she can't help herself. She presses, "Has she been transferred, or something?"

He hesitates only for a fraction of a second – so short a time that afterward, Anna is almost convinced that she imagined it. "Yeah. She…she went home to Indiana." He pauses, glancing at her again, then adds, "If you give me the bracelet, I can make sure she gets it."

That's it, then, Anna thinks. Now she knows. And if something doesn't feel quite right…well, she'd learned her lesson once. The hard way. One morning in February. Sometimes…sometimes it's better not to know. Sometimes you just have to let things be.

So she passes him the bracelet. The delicate silver links look funny in his large, calloused, hand, and for a moment she considers telling him so. Then she realizes how completely ridiculous the thought had been. Definitely, she needs to get more sleep. Or maybe just to stop thinking about things that are better off left in the past. "Thank you," she says. "Sorry to bother you."

She turns back toward the elevator, intending to leave it at that. Her finger is poised over the button when she hesitates. _Don't do it, Anna, _she tells herself. _Don't ask. Just let it go. _

But even as she tries to convince herself to move on with her life, to not get caught up in the business of strangers, she finds herself turning back around. She has to know.

"Agent Gibbs?" He raises his eyebrows, but not in a way that discourages her from continuing. "She wasn't transferred, was she?"

He gives her a long look, and once again, she's struck by how _piercing _his gaze seems. Then he inclines his head, and Anna swears she sees something like respect in his eyes. His voice is quiet, almost gentle, when he finally answers.

"No."

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**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The Lives We Touch **

Anna swallows. Hard.

Even as part of her appreciates the honesty, another part almost wishes that he had lied. That he had let her keep the illusion, however tenuous it might have been, that Kate was somewhere in Indiana, doing just fine.

_Please tell me she quit, _Anna begs silently, even as she knows with terrible certainty that that isn't what happened. _Tell me she's in a hospital somewhere, recovering from an injury. _

And yet that cursed – well, whatever it is – prompts her to keep pressing. Curiosity isn't the right word for it, this need to know the truth. The whole truth. "Is she…?" Anna can't quite bring herself to actually say the word. As if putting a name to it will make it real.

Agent Gibbs nods.

"How?" The question isn't far above a whisper, and even as she asks it, Anna wonders if she really wants to know.

"She was shot and killed by a sniper. A terrorist." He pauses for another long moment, before adding, "Last week."

"Oh." It's all she can think of to say. She gives a jerky, disjointed nod. "I, uh, OK. Um…" When had she started trembling? Why does that sound like someone else's voice in her ears, stammering incoherently?

And then it becomes more than she can handle. The room slides out of focus, and all she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. She feels a surge of nausea, and has to swallow against the feeling that she's in serious danger of vomiting all over this man's shiny black shoes. "Um, is there a restroom…?" she hears herself ask.

He just points, and Anna thinks she sees a frown on his face before she makes a break for it.

When she has emptied what feels like the entire contents of her stomach, and then some, Anna emerges from the stall and begins to splash water on her face. Over and over she brings her cupped hands to her face, forcing herself to focus on nothing but the rhythm of the motion. She keeps it up until her skin starts to feel numb from the cool water, and she can hardly remember why she is doing it.

She dries her face with a paper towel, and forces herself to take deep, calming breaths, until she is able to rinse out her mouth without choking. _Why _is she so affected by this? Sure, it's sad – tragic, even – that Kate was killed, but it's not like Anna really _knew_ her. Other people, those who had been close to Kate, surely have more of a reason to grieve than she does.

And yet…some part of Anna knows that reason has very little to do with it. That grief is grief, whether it's for a young West Point graduate from Montana, or a dark-haired woman who always smiled at the barista at her favorite coffee shop.

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When Anna has finally managed to get herself under control, she pops a breath mint into her mouth – one of those ridiculously strong after-coffee mints that make her eyes water – and comes out of the restroom, only to nearly collide with Agent Gibbs.

He's giving her that same look again: somewhere between considering and concerned. "You OK?" he asks quietly, in the kind of voice you'd use with a frightened animal. Anna just nods. In the same voice, he asks her, "You knew Kate?"

"Sort of. Well, not really, I guess. I mean…" Anna trails off. "I know what she liked in her coffee. Milk and sweetener," she adds, because for some reason, it seems important that he knows that.

"Ah." His expression doesn't seem particularly judgmental, or anything, but still Anna is sure he has to be wondering who on earth this crazy girl is, and why she's freaking out about a customer at a coffee shop.

After a long moment, she tells him, "My sister's name was Katie." As if that explains everything. Which, in a way, it does, but not like that, taken completely out of context.

To understand –to really _get _it – he'd have to know the whole tangled mess of a story. How Anna had done everything in her big sister's shadow, until suddenly she had been suddenly cut adrift, with no one left to follow. How Kate – the kind, driven NCIS agent who had shared her sister's name – had come into the shop one morning and reopened wounds that Anna had thought were finally healed. How her life had touched Anna's only briefly, before it had been cut short.

Somehow, though, he seems to understand. Or at least, to not think that she's in need of immediate psychiatric care. He nods slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too. It's just – it's not _fair, _you know? She was so young…" Anna isn't really sure, anymore, which Kate she's talking about. Both of them, really. Two women, different in looks and situation, but with so much in common. So much potential, so many wasted opportunities. Two families, two sets of friends, left to pick up the pieces.

Agent Gibbs is nodding again. "I know," he says, and Anna gets the feeling that he really does. He seems to hesitate for a moment, then touches her arm gently. "Do you need a ride somewhere?" Anna wonders if she still looks that shaken up, that he thinks she shouldn't be behind the wheel.

"Thanks, but I'm OK. I walked. From work, I mean. But I can take the bus home. I always do. I – " Abruptly, she realizes that she's babbling. And somehow, he doesn't seem like the type to put up with that well. "Sorry," she says. "I swear I'm not usually this…" she doesn't even know what the word is.

The corner of his mouth twists in what might be called a half-smile. "Don't apologize," he tells her wryly. Something about the way he says that makes Anna suspect he does it a lot. He looks her over again. "You sure you're OK?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." When he raises an eyebrow at her, she lets out a soft laugh. "Well, no, I'm not. But I will be."

"Let me walk you out."

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After making Agent Gibbs promise that he'll get the bracelet to Kate's family – as if that could possibly make any difference to them – Anna finds herself wandering aimlessly down the street.

It's a weekend, so she doesn't have class, and there's nowhere in particular she needs to be. But the thought of catching the bus, and sitting and brooding in an empty apartment all day is decidedly less than appealing. So Anna makes her way back toward the coffee shop, looking at her surroundings but not really taking anything in as she bumps shoulders with strangers.

Before Anna really realizes where she's going, she finds herself hovering on the front steps of St. Matthew's Church. In the end, it's the sound of organ music, muffled through the thick wooden doors, that convinces her to go in. Something about the sound is so soothing. And, well, Anna could do with soothing right about now.

The inside of the church is dim compared to the bright sunshine outside, and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust. When they do, she realizes that Mass is already half over. Suddenly, this is starting to seem just as stupid as her earlier impulsiveness. It's been a long time since she's gone to church, and she has the uncomfortable sensation that she's intruding. Feeling awkward and out of place, she is just about to leave, when the priest catches her eye. He smiles at her, and raises his hand in a subtle, welcoming gesture.

So Anna eases the heavy door shut, and makes her way to a pew in the very back, dropping to her knees on the plush kneeler. At the pulpit, a lector is beginning to read. His words don't register as Anna's thoughts focus on the dark-haired woman whose death has led her there. Self-consciously, she realizes that she's still wearing her burgundy polo and khakis from the coffee shop. But then she gives a mental shrug. She doesn't think Kate would mind.

"For those who have died," the man at the pulpit reads, "and for those who mourn them, that they may know the peace of God's heavenly kingdom. We pray to the Lord."

And as Anna whispers, "Lord, hear our prayer," the tears at last begin to fall. She hadn't cried, not at first, but now her face crumples and her body shakes as twenty minutes of sharp, aching sadness mingle with seven years' worth of dulled pain.

Bringing her clasped hands to her mouth, she bites on the edge of her knuckle in an effort to muffle her sobs. She doesn't bother to wipe away the tears that are tracing a path across her cheeks and down her neck as she prays for Kate, and Katie, and all the other women like them, whose deaths had left an empty space in the lives of so many people.

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**To be concluded…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The Lives We Touch**

Sitting with her feet propped up on her kitchen table as she slurps on a rapidly-melting Popsicle, Anna wonders when, exactly, she had become so impulsive.

She has never been the type to do anything on a whim. As a kid, she'd had to go to every toy store in town, and ask the advice of at least a dozen people, before deciding which stuffed animals were worthy of her precious allowance money. In high school, it had taken her almost four months to decide to paint her bedroom, after looking at what must have been hundreds of paint samples in every possible light condition. Her college application process had consisted of a giant spreadsheet comparing everything from offered majors to dorm furniture, and far more pro and con lists than she really cared to admit.

So she's having a hard time explaining, even to herself, why she had stopped by her professor's office before class on Monday morning, inquiring oh-so-casually as to what he knew about the application process at NCIS. For a moment, he had only blinked at her. Then his forehead had creased in confusion. "I thought you were planning to go back to Montana, once you finished your degree."

And Anna had remembered the conversation they'd had toward the beginning of the year, when he'd asked her what her plans were, and she'd admitted that she had absolutely no idea. But then she had shaken her head. "I think I changed my mind." She hadn't explained any more than that, and he hadn't pressed her.

She almost wishes that he had. That he had told her it was a ridiculous idea. That he had said she'd have to be crazy to try. Because now, the idea won't go away. And it's getting harder and harder, trying to talk herself out of it.

Licking the last of the sticky juice off the popsicle stick, Anna flips through the brochure her professor had found for her, stuffed somewhere in the back of a cabinet with a filing system that made sense only to him. After reading it in its entirety, scanning the Frequently Asked Questions and taking in the glossy images of agents with badges, she tosses her Popsicle stick in the trash and goes over to her computer to find out more.

The website she finds details a long, complicated process. But even so, there's an idea in her head, and it won't go away. Despite everything she reads about interviews and tests, fitness evaluations and polygraphs, background checks and twenty-week training courses, she still can't quite manage to convince herself that she's being ridiculous, thinking there's any way she might be able to do this.

So she bookmarks the website, and leaves the brochure on the dining room table, and goes for a jog. If she gives it a few days, she's sure, this crazy impulse will go away.

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Two days pass, and Anna is starting to see the flaw in that logic. This idea – this crazy, out-of-nowhere, completely out-of-character idea – hasn't gone away.

She tries to tell herself that this is insane. That there's no way she should be making a career decision based on a relationship – if you could even call it that – that had consisted of a grand total of four encounters. And yet…there's another, stronger part of her that demands to know why not.

Because for years, now, she has had nothing resembling purpose in her life. She had gone to college because that was what was expected of her. She had decided to pursue a post-graduate degree in order to buy herself time, time to figure out what on earth she was going to do with herself. She had chosen criminology not because she had always dreamed of being in law enforcement, but because one of her psych classes junior year had touched on criminal profiling, and it had been the only thing she could even sort of see herself being good at.

So really, who cares what her motives are? Does it _matter_ whether her career choice comes from a detailed, well-thought-out, five-year plan, or from a chance encounter in a coffee shop? A few years ago, Anna might have said yes. Might have said that this isn't the way it's supposed to work. Might have argued that she had never been the kind of person to just stumble into things.

But now, Anna has a hard time caring. About any of it. Because for some reason, this just feels _right._ And maybe it doesn't matter why. Maybe that – just that feeling – is enough.

So even as she tells herself to stop and thinkabout this, Anna knows, with a certainty she hasn't felt in a long time, that she's going to do it.

For Katie, who would be proud of her baby sister. For Kate, who will never know how big an impact four brief conversations and a silver bracelet have had on the life of a girl she hardly knew. And for herself. For a grad student from Montana, waiting for real life to start, who finally knows what she wants.

And, she promises herself, if – _when _– she makes it through FLETC, she'll celebrate her success not with champagne, but with a cup of coffee. With milk and sweetener.

00000000

At the beginning of Anna's shift on Friday morning, business is even slower than usual. Apparently even in DC, a city full of people who seem to think caffeine is an acceptable substitute for actual sleep, the majority of the world has better sense than to be out of bed at four in the morning.

Mostly because she needs to be doing _something,_ she starts rearranging the bottles of flavored syrup on the counter. She has finished organizing them by size and color, and is just about to start alphabetizing them, when at last the bells on the door begin to jingle.

As a dark-haired woman steps through the door, Anna is immediately struck by a confident, don't-mess-with-me vibe. It's not that she looks hostile, or anything. Her expression is neutral, even pleasant. But still, there's something in the way she carries herself that makes her stand out.

Anna's thoughts automatically go to her likely coffee order. _Definitely something strong, _she decides. _Turkish coffee, maybe. Black. _

As the woman approaches the counter, Anna's eyes are drawn to a Star-of David pendant, the delicate, twisted gold contrasting with her dark sweater. "Good morning!" Anna greets her, with her usual, "I swear I'm actually awake," brand of cheerfulness. "What can I get for you this morning?"

The woman eyes the pastries in the glass cabinet briefly, then evidently makes up her mind. "Just a coffee," she says, with a slight accent, one Anna can't quite identify. "With milk, and sweetener."

Anna feels her eyes widen. The corner of her mouth twitches, and she bites back a smile. Who'd have thought a simple coffee order could become so layered with meaning?

And then, the woman reaches into her pocket for her wallet, pulling back the edge of her jacket as she does so. And Anna sees the gold badge on her belt, glinting in the light from the overhead lamps. She has to turn away, under the guise of starting the woman's drink, in an effort to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter.

But, of course, she's always said:

You can tell a lot about a person by the kind of coffee she drinks.

* * *

**A/N: **As always, feedback is more than welcome. I'd love to hear from you!


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